They made their way out of the palace district, both in a subdued mood; neither felt optimistic about their chances. “What other options do we have?” Martel asked.
“Our best opportunity would lie with the rchants. Specifically the guild of tal traders,” Eleanor considered. “The lure of cheap ore in the mountains might be enough to convince them to invest. It will probably not be even half of what we really need, or half of what the Senate might provide, but it is better than nothing.”
“Perhaps if we can find a few more partial investors, the sum total will be sufficient,” Martel speculated.
“I shall make further inquiries.”
Once they reached the market district, they separated. Eleanor went west to the rchant quarter while Martel steered deeper into the neighbourhood until he stood before the typical dwelling of a trader. Judging by slabs of rock in the courtyard, one might suspect a peddler of stone for construction work, but as Martel stepped inside the house, the true purpose beca revealed. The entire ground floor stood empty of furniture except for a desk manned by a clerk; the rest of the space was taken up by nurous statues, spaced out to allow buyers to inspect them from all angles.
“Welco to Master Henry’s studio – oh, forgive ,” the clerk hurried to say as she got up and greeted Martel with a bow. “It took a mont to recognise you.”
“No trouble. Is Henry about?”
“He is, probably in his study. I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed.” She smiled.
“Much obliged.”
Martel went up the staircase; unlike the lower floor, the upstairs was furnished as living quarters, with an atrium and doors that led to different rooms. Martel walked over and knocked on one.
“Yes?”
“It’s ,” Martel declared.
A shuffling sound before the door was open, revealing Henry, once the stonemage of the Tenth Legion. His hair was grey and sprawling as ever, and his face furrowed, but graced with a smile. “Martel!” They embraced, and Henry ushered Martel into his study. “Your arrival is well tid. I was going over the books. Such tedious work.” He made a face and pushed his ledgers aside in favour of taking out a bottle and two cups. “When did you return?”
“A few days ago. It’s been busy. I just ca from the Senate.”
The stonemage raised his eyebrows, pouring a cup of wine for his friend. “What business could you have there? Last ti, if I recall, they sent you to Khiva. I hope it’s nothing as nefarious.”
“So might say better, others worse.” Martel accepted the cup and took a sip. “Eleanor and I have a new venture. We have been to Archen, exploring the ruins. We believe it is ripe to be resettled.”
Henry stared at him. “You don’t laugh, so I guess it’s no jest. Really? Those cursed old ruins?”
“Hopefully not cursed anymore. We have an ally cleansing them, making it fit for settlent.”
"Of all the news you could have given , I would never have considered this. If you told that you were reforming the Tenth to wage war on Khiva, I would have considered it more likely."
"Perhaps less likely, but certainly a better purpose. It will be a city for all, and one where children can learn magic without fear of being conscripted to war."
Henry drank from his cup, watching the other mage intently. "A noble sentint, assuming you can find students to teach in the first place."
Martel nodded. "I suspect that this will be our greatest challenge. Finding mages, whether young or old, who dare to go with us. Which is why I ca. Are you in touch with the other earthmages of Morcaster?"
Henry gave a shrug. "We don't exactly have a guild, but considering how our interests align, we talk from ti to ti."
"Can you spread the word? Should any of them have the desire for new horizons or to simply leave their mark on history. Stonemages to build the city and earthmages to prepare the fields; any of your profession will be invaluable."
"Why not? I don't mind passing on the word, and if any should ask about your character, I am one to vouch for it."
"I knew you would not let down. How about you? How is business? That wonderful work of a Moon Maiden I saw below, that's new?"
Henry patted his ledgers on the desk. "Business is good. Who knows? Maybe I'll make a statue of you and Eleanor. You can put it on the town square of your new city."
After a pleasant while spent with his friend, including a tour of his latest creations before they would be sent off to adorn the temples and palaces of Morcaster, Martel continued onwards. He passed by The Firebrand, as he had another errand in mind. Today was a day to look for mages. Hopefully, with Henry’s help, they would find so with experience and skill that could ensure the rebuilding of Archen did not take decades. But as the stonemage had said, a school needed students to be a school in the first place.
Mindful of this, Martel set a course towards the copper lanes. In the long term, this would pose the greatest difficulty for them. None of Archen’s neighbours would want the city to claim their children with magical talent. The Tyrians depended on theirs to maintain their way of life and defend their holand. The Asterians needed them for countless purposes, including protecting harvests, building cities, and fighting wars if it ca to it. As for the Khivans, they would most likely rather kill their children than allow them to pursue magic.
None of this could be solved easily or at present. They would need to have a city before they had a school. But Martel nonetheless could think of an opportunity to recruit a student, and he wanted to seize it before they set sail. So, he went to The Copper Drum.
From all his misadventures with Kerra, Martel knew the place well. He made his way into the backrooms, through the labyrinthine corridors, and up and down spiralling staircases. A few tis, he was questioned as to his presence, but a touch of suggestive magic in Martel’s words made them stand aside and give no further thought to the wizard stalking their hallways.
Finally, he reached his destination, a simple-looking room, no different than the others nearby. It had a complicated lock designed to prevent typical picks from being of use; more than that, slivers of gold kept those with magic from unlocking it. Unless, like Martel, they had acquired the ability to ignore the presence of the yellow tal. With a touch and a smile, Martel convinced the lock to open up.
Once inside, he locked the door again and arranged himself on a chair, waiting.
It took an hour before the sounds of tal and chanisms announced that the owner of the room had returned. The movent suddenly beca silent for a beat before the door was torn open. In walked a teenaged girl, a long dagger in hand, ready to commit violence against any who violated her sanctuary.
Martel looked at her placidly. “Hullo, Sparrow.”
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